To My Ethnicity (and some of those that have shaped it)

NOTE: I wrote most of this several years ago now. Don't know why I never published it.

Dear Thai Part of Me,
     Sawadeeka! We've come a long way since grade school and being asked if we know Kung Fu. (Still don't, for anyone wondering.) How desperately we wanted to blend in, not look different, get eye surgery, not be a freak. And how tragic that just when we finally wanted to look different in High School, our eyes rounded and freckles appeared! For so long I wanted to get rid of you, or at least to tame you. And then I wanted to be Thai, whatever that meant, and I chased my own tail as I struggled with issues of faith, family, and ethnicity. (Still do, if anyone's curious.)

     But what a journey to where we are now, to a new level of peace and understanding about who we are and what that means. On the one hand, I have that "exotic look" (meh) that makes perfect strangers ask, "so what is your ethnicity?" as though they expect me to say some alien species they've never heard of before. On the other hand, my Thai language skills are lousy-to-nonexistent, garnering me the familial nickname of "Mem" (foreign woman). Yet somewhere in the chaos we exist--a person who loves tom kha and green curry and grew up putting nom pla (fish sauce!) in just about everything (even spaghetti). Not a Buddhist, but with a genuine desire to honor my family's roots and beliefs, while honoring the one true God that I serve, who calls those from every tribe, tongue, and nation to himself. Neither the honorific "egg" (white on the outside, yellow on the inside), nor entirely the slur "twinkie" (the exact opposite).

     Instead, some sort of easter egg, with a thin yellow shell... that is more pale in spots... and apparently, somewhat dipped in chocolate...

     Yes, the analogy breaks down rather quickly, doesn't it.

     Anyway, to the little girl whose birth certificate says (brace yourselves!)--

     "Race of mother: white"
                  and
     "Race of father: yellow"

     (ah, small-town New Mexico in the 70's!)

     --I want to say, you aren't "Asian enough," nor are you "White enough." That is not the point. You are you, and that is a beautiful thing--no matter what the kids on the playground say.

Love,
Chan ("me")


Dear Coon Pa,
      Most Honored Birthfather. Sawadee ka! I wish I could have met you, thanked you for the heritage you gave to me, learned more about you. It was amazing meeting my half-sisters, my aunts, uncles, cousins, your mother--my Coon Yah. Seeing so much of me that I never knew is so Thai just because it came from my genetics, from my family! I'm not very good at being calm and I sometimes forget to point with my whole hand or not show my feet, but I think and hope you would have approved of my mai pen rai, my sense of adventure, and my love of all things sanuk. Thank you for my most honorable heritage. I am so proud and grateful.

With love and respect,
Norng Mem


Dear White Part of Me,
     Well, hello there. I'm sorry I haven't treated you well in the past. We've had a rough road, haven't we? It's hard to appreciate the good parts of my WASPy self without getting overwhelmed by the injustices done to those of darker skintone. But I have learned to be respectfully fond of you, oh white bread and mayonnaise. I have even come to terms, grudgingly, with my freckles. I've enjoyed hearing stories about my grandparents and seeing pictures. It's been good to reconnect with my aunt. Most of all, I'm learning to not merely see you, oh European heritage, as a placeholder. Instead, I'm learning to appreciate the unique experiences and privileges I've had as a light-skinned person. I don't still understand it all, but I'm trying. And I thank you for the privilege.

Cheers,
Me

Dear Mom,
     Thanks for raising me to appreciate people of every ethnicity, every socioeconomic status, every walk of life. I am so grateful that I am a pretty open-minded person (although of course I have my prejudices that I'm working on) and that I learned that from you. And thanks for the freckles. I think.

Love,
Your Pookie (ugh :)


Dear Black Part of Me,
     What up, yo? I mean, am I allowed to say that? Where does adaptation and contextualization turn into mockery and presumption? I just naturally pick up a particular way of speaking when I'm around all the South Carolina relatives. It's mostly subconscious--clearly, because I actually get more polite to my mother, using "ma'am" often. Sadly, not something I would probably consciously choose. So what does it mean to be black, anyway? President Obama has certainly challenged the stereotypes on both ends: he is neither "ghetto" nor a sell-out. Praise God for that, because it's a tough trail to blaze. But that leads us back to the question, what exactly is the black part of me? I mean, it's not genetic. If we say that being black means a shared struggle, shared injustices, shared experiences, then no, I haven't ever had to use a separate bathroom or been thrown out of a place because I had dark skin. But--and I say this not to trivialize the experiences of African-Americans under systemic prejudices and out-right racism--I have experienced a small bit of what it means to be the "other." To be the "black guy's kid," to look different, to feel the stares at our family when we would go out. I know that I don't have to carry that around with me everywhere, and that from a distance I look "white" and possibly normal. (Although that's still up for judgement.) But I do have black family, and I do identify with them and am grateful that they so totally accept me (and my awesome lumbering white boy of a husband). So it's a good question to ask, again and again--what does it mean to be a part of this black family, and how can I contribute to racial reconciliation and the downfall of racism? And I think it's okay to ponder this while eating greens and fatback (well, maybe not fatback) and slipping into the vernacular a little. After all, if you can't be relaxed around family, who then can you be yourself around?

Later,
Ch


NOTE: I wrote the note below before Dad passed away. I miss him. I hope he knew that I'm grateful for the heritage he passed on to me.

Dear Dad,
     Thanks for feeding me enough years that people actually say I look like you! I love that. Thanks for being the "black sheep" in the family, for being willing to be the "other" in our small town. Thanks for teaching me about potted chicken and Motown, as well as how to ride a bike and change a tire. Thanks for being so much my dad that I forget we don't share blood and sometimes accidentally list your health history on forms. Thank you for raising me!

Love,
Your Kid


Dear Sundee,
     Thank you so much for your book! For sharing your experiences and helping me to really start my own journey into better understanding--and praising God for--my ethnicity. Thank you for helping me to be grateful, for the first time, of my mixed heritage, and not merely tolerant at best. Thank you for inviting me to walk this path with you.

Checking All That Apply,
Chandra


Dear HR,
     I'm glad we finally sorted out the ethnicity thing. I'm sorry my ethnicity messed with your system. Thanks for adding a "check all that apply" option instead of making me choose. And thanks for all you do to keep me hired and supported!

Gratefully,
That crazy staff that is 50% Asian, 50% White, 50% Black, 50% New Mexican, 50% Atlantan, 50% Mississippian... and 100% InterVarsity (but 0% mathematician!)


Dear IVP,
     Why oh why is Check All That Apply out of print?!? Thank you for printing it in the first place... can we please, please, please get another edition out there? I've bought up most of the copies I can find floating around the internet, and I'm running out of copies to give away to people!

Love and Spell-check,
Chandra


Dear Redeemer Church,
     A place I belong. Finally. Where there are so many families and people who are multi-ethnic, appreciate diversity, and are willing to share privilege/become the "other." While certainly not a perfect place, a place of healing and worship and challenge for me. What a precious gift, here in the Deep South, of all places! What a joy to be part of this local body of Christ.

Joyfully,
Chandra & Co.


Dear Kennan,
     You love me for who I am and are so great about navigating multi-ethnic waters with me. All the families love you--Thai, white and black--for who you are. Thank you for being adventurous, for loving to go new places, try new foods, meet new people. I am so glad Annabel (and now, Emmaline) is half you and half me, which makes her an odd duck but a good one. She has inherited a wonderful history of ethnicities and nationalities and experiences from all sides of the family, and I so enjoy watching that play out as she grows.

Love,
Your Ch


Dear Future Children,
     Well, we're done with "belly babies," so if, God willing, we get to adopt more precious little ones, your ethnicities will be unique and possibly very different from mine. I hope you find joy and acceptance in our family. I pray we'll do a good job of honoring your stories, your ethnicities and birth families. I know your ethnic stories will be extra tricky to navigate as adopted children. All your Dad and I can do is rely on the Lord (as we already must do for your sisters!) and strive to honor all parts of you as we entrust you to him. I hope the racial reconciliation that you will need to find within yourselves will be an act of worship and fueled by grace. Already we love you. Already we praise God for you and dream of cuddling your little selves and marveling in your wee toes and enjoying all the colors that you will be.

Lovingly,
Mama


Dear Chandra Louise Vitwadee Ampawasiri Mem Wood Garrett Crane,
     Never a dull moment, eh? Thanks for being you.

Much love,
Me


Dear King Jesus,
     Sometimes it's hard to believe that you know what you're doing and especially that I (with all my muddled-up ethnicity) was carefully planned, and for a reason. I hope my life is glorifying to you. Thank you for helping me to grow in my ethnic personhood, in my understanding of what diversity is and should be, and for helping me to repent of the ways that I am prejudiced, wounded, and in desperate need of grace. Thank you for being the ultimate person of mixed ethnicity, who took on flesh and dwelt among us, embodying both the saving God and mankind in such desperate need of a savior. Be glorified in the life of your body, Lord. Thank you for calling us from out of every tribe, tongue, and nation.

Relying on your mercy,
Your child

To Children, Some of Whom Are Mine

Dear Baby Noodle,

     I've heard some people call babies in the womb "noodle," which is cute.  However, this is not our cutesy nickname for you while we wait to find out your gender.  It's your nickname in a different culture, in a different way.  It's strange trying to explain to the people that we ask to pray for you about your nickname, as strange as the prayer request itself.  Some reading this might think I'm writing to the wee person who is currently in my belly, but I'm not.  I'm writing to you, seven months old and a world away.  And no-doubt precious.  To you, small person, who we so desperately wanted to be our baby, but God had different, better, harder plans than we did.
     I'm writing this with tears drying on my face, partially because crying is apparently what pregnant women do all day, and partially because I've been reading about human trafficking, and partially because I'm learning to let myself be sad about losing you.  You see, what you don't know, and probably never will, is that we wanted to adopt you.  To bring you into our family.  To make you ours.
     And that would have meant taking you from your birth family, which no one ever really wants to do.  From the family that you share genetics with, from the mama that had you at one time in her own belly, from those that have nicknamed you Noodle.  I don't put the Thai word here, because I feel I want to protect your privacy, and also because I'm not entirely certain how to pronounce it.  Annabel and I are trying to remedy that, so that maybe future adoptive babies who come to our home can keep some of their birth language, and so that I can rediscover one of my own.  It's funny to think that we are learning at the same time.  You would probably laugh if you heard us--though I imagine you laugh at a lot of things at your age.  I hope you do.
     I am struggling to grieve our loss of you, yet rejoice that you are with your birth family.  I don't even know how to refer to you in my thoughts (and how much less in my words).  When I think of the Little Bit that we miscarried years ago, before Annabel, I know what to think.  He or she is our tiny baby who was with us for an even tinier while.  Annabel knows that she has an older sibling, and I think even grieves that baby in her own four year-old way.  And I am, years later, still learning to praise God for that short little life.  That precious life that was ours, for the shortest of whiles.  And that's where you get complicated.
     We knew that your birth family might change their mind.  As the months went on, it became less and less likely.  Even as our adoption paperwork began to slowly build, hope that you would soon be ours began to lessen.  Finding out that one might adopt soon is like being told, "Congrats, you're pregnant!  At about 8 months along!  So good luck getting ready for that!" And then having the process drag out (as it seems it does for most) is like watching a few days past the due date turn into weeks past, turn into months past.  And then when your family gave the final "no," it hurt like a miscarriage… but was more like being told, "Sorry!  You weren't pregnant, after all.  You just ate too much.  Sorry about that." And there's the sadness of a loss, but (blessedly) without the grief of a death.  And there's the trying to figure out how best to keep praying for you and your family.  And the weirdness of what to tell people.  And there's the (also apparently often) strangeness of "You really are pregnant!  Congratulations!  So please move past this hard foray into adoption, because we've got a really-actually-gonna-be-yours baby to think about.  (If he or she is okay, and it doesn't actually turn into a miscarriage.)"
    And I wonder why I've cried so much over the past 3 months.
    Part of this letter is for me, to process what happened, and re-enter the grieving process, to acknowledge that there's been a loss here.  And part of it is for others, to whom I've not had the heart, or the time, or the plain-ole oomph to explain what happened.  I guess it's a bit false to write this letter to you, since you'll never read it.  But aside from the fact that it's how this blog is set up, there also is something cathartic and precious about writing you.  To tell you we do love you, just not like we thought we'd get to.  To say we are praying for you, but not over you, in person, like we'd hoped.  To ask God in typed-out words to show favor to you and your family, to care for you and draw you close to himself.
     Tiny person, we wish the best for you.  And we trust that God knows that best, and will bring it to pass.  Even though we grieve.  Even though it hurts.  Even though we're sad.  Be well, and grow strong, and know that even by some random people a world away, you are loved.

With love,
Auntie & Uncle


Dear Baby,

     No nicknames for you, I guess.  Just "baby."  I'm sorry I've not been more excited about you.  I'm sorry I've let morning-all-day-dear-lord-somebody-take-out-that-trash-NOW-sickness distract me from the joy of you.  I'm sorry I didn't grieve properly for your almost-sibling before we learned of you.  Please forgive me for letting guilt and confusion and frustration and grief get in the way of caring for you.  Wait, that pretty much sums up parenting.  Well, forgive me for past, present and future, and we'll call it even, I guess.
     Your older sister is SO EXCITED about you.  She has no idea what is coming, and perhaps that's why she can be so excited.  It's sunshine and rainbows for her.  And I'm glad for that.  Your daddy is so proud that you are growing big and strong and that we'll get to meet you soon.  And your momma, though tired and cranky and achy, is excited, too.  Sweet small person.  We love love love you.

Love,
Your Family

p.s. please keep off the ribs in a few months, okay?  Your sister sure loved to play the xylophone on my ribs.


Dear Annabel,

     Congrats! You are going to be an amazing big sister.  You are already an amazing little person, and I think having to share the spotlight will only grow you better and sweeter.  We love love love you.

Love,
Mommy, Daddy, and Baby

p.s. please keep off the ribs, okay?  I love your snuggles, but we're gonna have to reconfigure hugs as this baby gets bigger!


Dear Other Children, Some of Whom May Someday Be Ours,

I guess it really does take a village, eh?  You precious, small people.  Lord have mercy on our tender parenting hearts.

Love,
Adults Everywhere.

To My Daughter

Dearest Annabel,

You are the sweetest thing. You are so cute I can't stand it. You are kind and loving. What a joy you are. What remarkable proof of God's grace to us. You are a precious gift.

And that is what is keeping me from SELLING YOU TO THE CIRCUS.

They're hiring, you know.

You have so many key skills for the circus life. What a star of the show you'd be! The Strong Man has nothing on you. What superhuman strength you demonstrate every time I have to put you in your carseat though you DON'T WANT TO GOOOOO! (And how mightily you cling to said carseat when we finally arrive.) What an amazing feat of dexterity you show when I try to pry something sharp or breakable from your wee hands!

And forget acts like the Bearded Lady or the World's Tallest Man. I can see the sign now: "WORLD'S LOUDEST TODDLER!" That high-pitched shriek you emitted at the grocery store last week was a thing to behold. People will gather in amazement to see (and hear) you. Folks without kids won't be able to believe that such a sound could come from such a small person. Those with children will be unable to look away--much like with a carwreck--but will then sigh with relief and congratulate themselves that it's not their kid making that unholy noise.

Trapeze artists? Boring, compared to your ability to virtually disembowel your bedroom furnishings while you're supposed to be napping. The curtains torn from the window and strewn on the floor! The stuffed animals tossed about and looking like a psychedelic crime scene! The drawers of drawers (ha!) emptied and crammed in every nook and cranny of your room! And you, bouncing on the bed like the little monkey you are.

Yes, it's truly amazing how an entire three-ring circus can be housed in one small body.

Of course, you wouldn't be alone in your new circus life. Mommy and Daddy have become quite good at lion taming, you know. We would wear splendid outfits (machine washable) and top hats and use stickers and threats and pleadings and prayers ("Lord, help me not to PUT THIS CHILD IN A BOX and mail her to the zoo") to keep your ferocious self at bay. Audiences would ooh! and ahh! to see us dance around your flailing, kicking, screaming form. They would gasp in wonder at our ability to avoid being bitten or mauled by our little tigress. Crowds would gather from miles around to see you go from 0 to 60 and back again in mere minutes.

We would make a fortune. Come to think of it, maybe we should just invite people into our house to watch the antics. We can sell tickets at the door, which would save us the trouble of having to travel from city to city. "Hi diddly dee! It's the circus life for meeeeee!"

Oh, Annabel. What entertainment we have around this house, 7 nights a week.

Heaven help us,

Your adoring Ring Masters

To Our New Home State

Dear Mississippi,

Well, here we are, two months later. It's been a blur since we first saw that "WELCOME TO MISSISSIPPI" sign and realized that it was welcoming us as residents, not visitors. But I have to say that I really do like you, Mississippi, and I'm glad we're here. If it couldn't be Atlanta, GA, I'm glad it's you.

Love,

Those Crazy Yankees in Clinton

Dear Michael,

I love that you were our unofficial welcoming committee. I love that you came up with the abandon of a 10 year-old to tell us that you used to live here and that Jayden, who lives next door, is your best friend 'cause you've known each other "like forever." I love that you are white and Jayden is black and that's not an issue. I kept hearing about the brutal past of Mississippi--and I know it's true--but as you grow and learn about yourself and your state, I hope you see just how awesome your friendship is. How important and right it is, and how much it means to see two little boys judging each other not by the "color of their skin but by the content of their character" and pronouncing the other to be friend and brother. Love love love it. So come over and play in our yard anytime. Come visit and say hello to Annabel. And thanks for welcoming us in so many ways.

Love,

Those folks with the cute baby that live in your old house which is really different now, gosh, it's really nice and did you know about riding bikes and selling cookie dough and...

Dear Toni,

So you read my first post, eh? Hee hee hee--that's a reminder and a reality check that this thing is actually available to the world via the interwebs (and not just in my head). So I'm glad I told the truth in that first post, which is that Pentimento rocks and is a great "third place." You asked me how we're doing--that now we've been here awhile, what hasn't lived up to expectations, where is the bloom off the rose? Honestly, nowhere. (Except perhaps the worst of the summer weather.) We've been welcomed by and plugged into this community so much already and we love it. So thanks for asking, which is just proof of how great this place is. See you next week!

Much love,

The Bibliophiles in Huntcliff

Dear Redeemer Presbyterian,

Home. We're home. A vibrant, multi-ethnic community that has welcomed us with open arms. Amazing preaching. Unbelievable music. Great nursery. There is one problem, though. I tend to idolize churches. It's a bad habit of mine. So if you could not be quite so awesome, that would be great. No? Dang. Okay, then. God's grace is big enough to help me stay focused on him.

Thanks be to God,

Right side, 10th row back (we're creatures of habit)

Dear Walker's Drive-In, Sal & Mookie's, The Pizza Shack, Julep, etc.,

Yum yum yum. I see that it won't be much easier here to stay on budget with eating out. So much goodness for the taking. We look forward to discovering more local delights!

Thanks,

The couple who tips well because their cute baby throws food all over the floor.

Dear The Orange Peel,

Oh, consignment store goodness. I love my new dress--I feel so Julia Roberts at the racetrack in Pretty Woman in it. I think I need a matching hat. Perhaps next time I come in? And the name, I love the store name. Fondren is such a cool section of town. Thanks for being there.

Whoo hoo!

Ch

Dear Mississippi College, Jackson State, University Medical Center, etc.,

Well, here I am. Send me your poor, your tired, your over-educated masses. I'm ready to serve!

Thank you,

Chandra Crane

Campus Staff, Graduate & Faculty Ministries

InterVarsity Christian Fellowship/USA

Associate Staff, Christian Legal Society

Jackson Metro Area

Dear Dr. Crane,

Well, here we are. Big, roomy, clean apartment. A little more money to spare. Time to spend with each other. We've come a long way in the past couple of months, eh? How God has provided for us since I last wrote. Thanks for bringing us here. We love you and it's so so true that Home Is Where the Heart Is.

Love Always,

Chandra and your Borgleboo

Clinton, Mississippi (who knew?)

To a my Newest Westside Find

Dear Hankook Taqueria,

Well, now you've gone and done it. You've joined the ranks of Octane and Gato Bizco by being so delicious and fantastic that my head exploded. The Bulgogi taco... the sesame fries... the bibimbop...!

Why is this a problem, you ask? Well, sweet hole-in-the wall purveyor of Korean-fusion goodness, thanks to you, I'm going to have to stage a protest--a "live-in," if you will. I'm going to chain myself to a tree in Piedmont Park, and I AM NOT LEAVING. I will stay here in Atlanta, chained to that tree, so that I may enjoy your culinary offerings whenever I...

Crap. There appears to be a flaw in my plan. Namely, the whole "chained to a tree" part. Hm...

I've got it! Take two:

I'm going to chain myself to a tree on wheels (bwa ha!) And I AM NOT LEAVING. Yes, yes, that should solve the problem. Excellent. Rain or shine! In the most humid of summers and bitterest of winters, I will stay here in this city I love. No matter the weather...

Dang. There's still the whole "living under a tree" aspect. Hmm...

Are you interested in expanding your new empire and opening a location in Clinton, MS?

Love and Kimchee,
Me and my stomach.

To Our Home... for now

Dear Atlanta,

We are going to miss you. Bwagh! It is going to be hard to leave. But we are determined to enjoy the time we have left here, and wanted to let our friends know what we've got going on in the coming months, both for purposes of prayer, as well as planning:

Mid-may: Chandra finishes the semester at Emory and prepares to set up for summer and then leave in June.

Late May or early June: Kennan finishes writing his dissertation and defends his PhD

June 12th: Annabel's First Birthday Party! More details to come.

Late June: we move to Clinton, MS

August 7th: we'll be back in town as Kennan walks at GT Graduation and we'll be having a party to celebrate that evening at (where else?) Octane Coffee

Okay, Atlanta. We've got just a few months left, but we know you won't disappoint. Bring it on!

Much love,

Those Crazy Cranes in Midtown

Ch, Kennan & AnNaBeL

To Our Coaches

Dear Coach Hewitt,

I have to agree with the new Coke Zero (should I put a TM or somesuch in here so I don't get sued? Probably.) ads that proclaim "nothing but taste." Indeed, sir. You are a classy man. I'm sorry that we're such slacker fans--it's not that we don't love you or college basketball; it's that football is easier to keep track of due to the more consistent schedule (and fewer games overall). So we're not fairweather fans, just lazy ones.

Well, good luck at the Big Dance! We believe in you.

Love,

a Yellow Jacket family whose wee daughter is dressed in White & Gold

Dear Coach Johnson,

What do you mean it's not football season yet? Could you work on that? Oh, and can you bless our baby? Hat-tip to Sam for the priceless video. If only we were so cool.

We're excited for the upcoming season, when we will be coming back into town from MS on many a Saturday. And this, dear Coach, this is the year when we break the bowl game curse. We believe in you!

Love,

a Yellow Jacket family whose wee daughter cheers the Brave & Bold (or improves the ratio, either way!)

To Clinton, Mississippi

Dear Clinton,

I'm sorry I dismissed you, in high urban snobbery, as being a suburb that we didn't want to live in. I'm sorry I thought Vicksburg, in all its urban chic, would be the place we'd want to live. (It isn't, and we don't.) Turns out Vicksburg is neither the bustling metropolis I had hoped for (ha!) nor is it even a comfortable suburb with all the amenities, but rather an aged woman snoozing on a front porch in widow's weeds while the floorboards decay around her.

Ah, yes--drama. Nothing like a day inside the car to increase my sense of hyperbole. But, I digress.

So, Clinton--I understand now why most of the lab folks like to call you home. Spookily enough, someone took our hometown, cloned it, doubled its size, and then plopped it down in Mississippi... and there you are. Possibly our future home for quite awhile. So it's time to roll up our sleeves, grab a rake & hoe, and get back to our roots.

Dear Clinton Visitor's Center,

What a first impression! You had friendly volunteers, fun crafts, interesting displays and local folks pickin' & grinnin' at one of the Olde Time Music Jam Sessions--bluegrass as it's meant to be! It will be hard to leave our home here in Atlanta, but if we move to Clinton, I know we can make a new home here.

Dear Clinton School District,

You group all your schools by age, not location--just like our hometown. I love that. I love that the kids are together all through their elementary and secondary years, and especially that there isn't a poor school on the other side of the tracks across from the rich school. Which all-too-often translates into a black school and a white school, when all's said and done. I love knowing that Annabel's classmates would come from a variety of backgrounds, ethnicities, socio-economic status, educational backgrounds, etc. (It may be too much to hope for more variety of political leanings, but we'll see.) Not utopia, and there are certainly cliques, but it's a great start.

And the High School colors are red, black & white? They're not the Rams (rather, the Arrows, so I'm curious what the mascot looks like!), but it's still a wild coincidence...

Dear cups (an espresso cafe'),

Hallelujah! There's hope! You're a chain, and your espresso machines are set to automatic, much to Kennan's disappointment. BUT--you well understand that THERE IS NO X IN ESPRESSO and I'll forgive your whipped cream cans for the fact that you do have high chairs (and I'm guessing, though I didn't check, a changing table in the bathroom). Even the best coffee shop in the world--still always first in our hearts--doesn't have that. Ahem.

So I could spend many a day enjoying your free wifi and quirky atmosphere. Meanwhile, Kennan has informed me that he's going to ask the baristas at Octane to teach him their ways... which will require, at some point, the purchase of an espresso machine that is not set to automatic. I've told him that is fine as long as I get my digital SLR and time with Kate & Bobbi Jo to learn the secrets of their ways. But I apologize for putting an innocent coffee shop in the middle of friendly marital negotiations.

We'll be back, little coffee shop! I hope you have frequent customer cards.

Dear Pentimento,

Fabulous! I love used book stores, and am quite enjoying my Greg Bear find, thank you. I love the story behind your name, the framed quotes scattered about the place, the squooshy arm chairs, and even the eerie cat curled up on one of those arm chairs (I suspected taxidermy, but was too afraid to ask).

Nice Owner Lady, it was so great to meet you and talk about books and churches and babies and art and towns (large & small) and all sorts of other good things. Thank you for your friendly manner and interest. And thank you for being yet another awesome example of racial reconciliation as it is clear that your cross-cultural friendship with the Nice Lady from Chicago is both real and deep. I hope I get to see you again soon and buy more books that I don't quite need!

Dear Newk's Express Cafe,

You're a fun little chain. Your chicken gumbo was fabulous, I thoroughly enjoyed the shrimp po'boy, and maybe someday I'll get up the nerve to order the pimento cheese sandwich. Maybe.

Dear Mississippi College,

You look nice. I hope I get to meet students and faculty on your hallowed grounds and really dig into their lives and be a help to them, even if just volunteering a few hours a week. I am impressed that although your sign proudly proclaims that you are "STILL UNDER BAPTIST CONTROL," you were the first co-ed college in America to grant degrees to women. "STILL UNDER BAPTIST CONTROL," really? That cracks me up. Back to our roots, indeed.

Dear Lily's Asian Emporium,

Awesome. If we move to Clinton, it's nice to know that we can still get our fish sauce and curry paste. And the fact that your Nice Owner Lady was born and raised in the Hunan Province, relocated to Clinton (culture shock!), then went to Singapore but decided to move back, says something about Clinton as a community.

Dear Dave Ramsey,

Yes, you were in Clinton, MS. You followed us there. And although you can be harsh and I don't necessarily agree with your political leanings (nor some of your theology), I do see that we don't need to run out and buy a house just because Kennan will finally have the decent salary he deserves. We will save up for a good down payment, dagnabbity. But the apartment complexes in Clinton have tested my resolve for sure. I guess the college students don't mind a little funk and there just aren't enough young professionals to warrant a higher level of apartments. Sigh.

Well, God will provide something that Annabel can crawl around in without being attacked by bugs or rodents too much and hopefully we'll get to know our neighbors.

Dear Kennan Crane,

You were in Clinton, MS, and thus Annabel and I were, too. We love you, and we're proud of you, and since home is where the heart is, we'll make a home with you wherever we end up!

I still want my digital SLR out of your first paycheck.

Love,

(the future) Mrs. Dr. Kennan Crane

To Vicksburg, Mississippi

(I know it's been literally years since I last wrote. But if we move to Vicksburg, I may have a heck of a lot more time on my hands to blog. Although not as much to blog about...)

Dear Burger Village,

Fabulous. So fun to see all the pictures with famous folks such as Frankie Valli and LL Cool J. The burger was indeed delicious and seeing a sweet old black man working alongside a young white woman does my heart good and gives me hope for race relations in this area. Maybe my (mixed couple) parents can come visit here without (too many) stares.

And as the kid at the counter said, $4.90 for a cheeseburger and fries is ridiculously cheap. Thank you, Burger Village--I'm glad you were my first impression of Vicksburg!

Dear Fredericks,

What a crazy small world. Seriously, Nice Owner Lady, your cousin owns George's in the Highlands? How fun is that. Thanks for appreciating Annabel's cuteness. When she is old enough to need shoes, if we're living here, we will indeed be back to shop your store. Although I know that seeing you will make me homesick for the ViHi area, at least for awhile. (sigh) And I doubt I'll ever be Southern enough to purchase a camo pillow dress! "Great for baby showers" indeed.

Dear Cinnamon Tree,

Well, I've found my Swoozies. I mean, you've got it all--Vera Bradley, Trumpette, even MudPie (not that I can really afford any of it...). Fun stuff. And THE BUNNY SLIPPERS. Oh, the Bunny Slippers. If we live here when Annabel's feet get big enough, we are soooo stocking up. And if a tragic accident ever happens to my feet and shrinks them to child's size 10/12, ohhhhh my. What a happy day that will be. Your 50% off selection rocks, and Annabel loves her new book. Maybe I can do Southern Preppy, after all. Katherine will be proud.

Dear Highway 61 Coffeehouse,

I know, I know--I'm a big city snob. I would have sneered at me, too, had the situation been reversed. I'm just in pre-emptory mourning for Octane, that's all. I had such high hopes for you when I saw the Batdorf & Bronson and Dancing Goats coffee signs. My heart skipped a beat when I saw the grinder and I got positively in a tizzy when I heard the classic CLACK CLACK CLACK that has often lulled Annabel to sleep. But then I asked about french pressed coffee and you asked me about whipped cream, and it all went down hill from there.

I know we won't find anything of Octane's caliber no matter where we end up, but COME ON. THERE IS NO X IN ESPRESSO! The words "french" and "press" put together shouldn't confuse you (I had mercy and didn't even inquire about Chemex). And what did you put in my mocha (sans whip) that made you call your coworker over to see before you handed it to me with an evil smile? I probably don't want to know.

Alright, this city slicker is headed back to Atlanta soon. But I might be back. And this time, I'll keep my mouth shut... but keep an eye out while you make my coffee, just in case.

Dear Biedenharn Candy Company and Museum of Coca Cola Memorabilia,

Well, the Coke Museum in Atlanta you are not. But at $3 for admission, as opposed to the exorbitant rates at the Coke Museum, hey--I'll take it! Oh, and thanks for letting me know NOT TO GO PAST THE COUNTERS UNTIL I'VE PAID ADMISSION. I might have missed the 15 signs. Southern Hospitality meets Capitalist Necessity.

Dear Salvation Army Thrift Store of Vicksburg,

Tragic. I think if we move here, my thrift store days are over. I mean, of course you're not as fabulous as Nearly New or even the SA Thrift Store near Tech. But dark and dingy are just not working for you. Neither are quiet and grumpy. At least I got to drop off the giveaway crap that's been in our trunk for quite awhile now! The patron saint of getting lost still appears to be with me.

Dear Emory University (Vicksburg campus) and ChristChurch Vicksburg,

Crap. Nevermind.

Okay, Vicksburg. It's been interesting. Your historic downtown reminds me of Galveston, but the rest of you reminds me of Clovis, NM (sadly, minus Joe's Boot Shop). Soooo... we'll see what God does. I trust in his providence for our family and hope that Kennan's interview went well today.

EDIT: I forgot to sign off! So...

Love,

The Snobby City Slicker in the beat up Toyota Corolla

Keeping the Faith

Jesus didn't promise sunshine and kittehs. Following him means taking up one's cross daily, and in a sin-stricken world at that. Thankfully, there are companions along the way--family, friends, and websites.

What? Did I just say "websites"?

Oh, did I. The past year has been (as my good friend and coworker Tony would say) a "Praise the Lord/ Lord have Mercy" rollercoaster. Ups and downs. We've had the joy of sharing in celebrating a dear sister (both literally and in the family-of-Christ sense) marrying a wonderful brother. The pain of losing of losing our first child. The overwhelming, chance-of-a-lifetime, wonderful trip to Asia to celebrate the Hwangs' wedding once again, to attend another wedding, and to finally meet up with my birth family. The struggles and frustrations and joys and pressures of our jobs and school. The fear of wondering if Dad Garrett had prostate cancer (he doesn't) and the fear of finding out that Dad Crane was in need of a heart transplant (keep reading). Sharing with so many the joys of marriages and births and careers and adoptions and graduations, and sharing with far too many the grief of deaths and illness and depression and abuse and theological despair.

Through it all, we've clung to our faith in Christ Jesus. How, you ask? (Let's pretend you did ask, okay?)

As I said, through websites. Okay, the primary (and easy) answer, is "by grace." By the gracious, constant presence and protection of the triune God. By community and sharing and crying and counseling and medicines (shocking!) and prayer and reading of the Word (sigh... far too little on those last two!) and pursuing spiritual disciplines and sheer stubborn God-given determination.

How else would we have gotten through the past couple of weeks, in which we traveled to four different cities (Denver/Colorado Springs, Raleigh-Durham, DC, and Houston/Galveston); celebrated/mourned on Mother's Day, pushed through what would have been the due date, attended a conference, freaked out/rejoiced in a donor heart becoming available for Dad Crane, celebrated/freaked out about the graduation (and thus departure) of so many fabulous students, and celebrated Mom Garrett's birthday, all in the same two days?

How? (Sorry, I'm getting there!) By a (growing) understanding of our sinfulness and God's holiness, a desire to see redemption...

... and a weird sense of humor. So I present, for your reading/clicking pleasure, sites that help me examine my faith, laugh at my failings, and praise God for loving us all anyway:

The character who does Bible scenes out of Legos (you have to see it to believe it!) appears not to be a Christian, but in some ways, I'd say he appreciates the Bible more than a lot of Christians I know (probably me included). He does have something of an agenda, though, which is evident in some of his interpretations of the passages. And there's some non-G rated stuff... but that's the Bible for you!

I mentioned the classic, sacrelicious Lark News in a previous post. My new, fabulous find (thanks to Tim and others for showing me the way) is all about Stuff Christians Like. Whoo hoo hoo hoo hoo! Wait. I do that. And that. Oh, and I do that, too! Ouch.

I've also stumbled upon the Wittenburg Door. Yes, they know they spelled it wrong. (No, I didn't know.) It's similar to Lark News, so when I find that I haven't procrastinated quite enough for the day, I head there. Particularly fabulous was the... interview... with NT Wright. (And no, I'm not quite sure if the entire thing is made up or not! Sheesh. Must I admit all my ignorance, all in one post? What will I do in further posts? Make sense?)

I also mentioned Snopes in that previous post. Specifically, if I need to feel superior about how intelligent I am (mostly after I go to the other websites and find that I don't get most of the jokes), I visit the Religion page, or the Glurge Gallery.

There are also several good sites (with less satire, more theological discussions, but still a sense of humor) that Team Redd could no doubt direct you to, that I've visited from time to time. When I really want to stretch myself, though, I go to a website for the "satirical church service for the thinking masses." It's basically a comedy routine that mocks the Western Evangelical church stereotype. These folks are not Christians, and I doubt they've ever met a Christian they liked, much less respected. While I could probably never attend a "service" (show), because even my irreverent self would probably get offended and "prove" their point that Christians are fun-haters, the website sure makes me think. About what I take for granted, what I practice and preach, and where I get distracted from Jesus and focus too much on me and "my" church.

And when I really need to get back to basics, I go here. Because I'm oh-so-pious... and a little bit of a tech geek.

Praise the Lord... Lord have Mercy!

How to be Difficult...

... it's worked for me, anyway!

Organize furniture so it is NOT feng shui.

Shoot the cats with the spray bottle.

Not answer the cell phone.

Curse.

Pick fights with Georgia fans.

Change the lyrics to praise songs that are theologically questionable. Sing loudly.

Multi-task.

Continue drinking from a Nalgene bottle.

Hit the snooze button. Several times.

Run 5-15 minutes late. For EVERYTHING.

Talk incessantly about things like ICHC, Stargate, and the cats.

Start reading 5 books at once but never finish any of them.

Take 5 big, heavy books on a trip. Read none of them.

Get weird urges to vacuum at 3 AM.

Support Obama just to spite Clinton.

Keep a blog. Pout if no one reads it. Repeat.

Insult to Injury

May 12th will not be an easy day for us. We were ready to celebrate my Mom's birthday on that day with the due date of our first child. Now we will celebrate her birthday with a definite bittersweetness. It's also the day after Mother's Day, which I imagine will not be easy, either. And, May 12th is Emory's graduation, where several of my favorite students will be closing the grad school chapter of their lives and moving on to what God has next for them. They will be sorely missed. We will be in DC for a conference that Kennan is presenting at, which is exciting (and I'm actually glad to be out of town and away from subtle reminders of what we've lost), but it will still be a rough time.

Now, to add ridiculous insult to genuine injury, I have discovered that the postal rates are increasing on May 12th! AGAIN. So now we face the dilemma, once more, of whether to buy a bunch of "Forever" stamps or not. At this rate (pun intended), it may well be worth it.

Anyone else in? We can stand in line for hours at the Post Office, dress up like postal characters, blog and talk and read and think and basically obsess about what will happen next...

Sorry. I was having a flashback to an obsession from last year... I have to say, reading that post again (and a few others around it) was rather cathartic and encouraging (especially the comments sections). I should do that more often.

No, Really.

I voted for Ron Paul in the Primaries.

I can eat an entire jar of pickles in one sitting.

I love small dogs that bark a lot.

My favorite colors are red and black.

I wish I lived in Texas.

I know all the words to "Enter Sandman."

My secret ambition is to meet Janet Reno.

I've decided to become a nun.

I once caught a fish this big...

I think David Hasselhoff is hot.

My cat likes to eat peanut butter.

My favorite magazine is Star.

I've been calm and obedient since 1978.

Yes, Happy April Fools' Day! You decide which ones are true.

Texass!

Well, we're back from our exile to Texas (with a short time of refuge in New Mexico). It's been a very stressful couple of weeks, and we are so grateful to all for the prayers and well-wishes. I have to say that although I'm still not the biggest fan of Texas, Galveston did grow on me. Either way, it's good to be home in Atlanta, where our license plates are in-state and we understand the local customs.

We've all been very impressed by and grateful for the level of care at UT Medical Branch in Galveston. The doctors and nurses have been fantastic, both in their care of Kennan's dad, as well as in tolerating all of us crowding into his hospital room to visit, play cards, etc. For updates on Charlie: www.caringbridge.org/visit/CharlieCrane.

The soundbite from Miss Congeniality ran often through my head during our sojourn in the Lone Star state: "Texass! Washington, nice apples... O-HI-oooo..." It is, indeed, a-hole 'nother state (no, that is not a typo), with quirks--and I'll admit, a charm--all its own.

Random thoughts while driving down the road in Texas:

State troopers are like trolls; they like to hide under bridges... Texas never ends... 3 bottles of Coke, 1 bag of gummy orange slices and 1 bag of m&m's will keep a person awake enough to drive... Bon Jovi on the stereo helps, too... did I mention Texas never ends?... there is a certain beauty to Texas... for the first 100 miles, anyway... boots and porn are the top sellers in Texas, if the billboards are any indication... family is worth the drive through Texas... if you get too into the music, you end up swerving into other lanes... Texas drivers are grumpy... seriously, TEXAS NEVER ENDS... when driving an automatic transmission minivan which has been loaded to the gills, it's good to remember that it's not an empty stickshift compact car... passengers get grumpy, too... if you think that the roads are crazy, try hanging out with some of the characters at fast-food joints along the way... gas prices are unholy, these days, everywhere... make fun of New Mexico and I'll scorn you, make fun of Texas and they'll just shoot you... and by the way, Texas never ends.

Okay, Texas does end. In the case of Interstate 45, it ends in Galveston (or the ocean, but we stopped just short of that), and is not after all such a bad place. Now I'm off to shoot squirrels, yep! Y'all come back now, ya hear?

Where to Start?

Aw, shucks. Sam linked us off his blog, and here I haven't posted in months. Let's not discuss how long it's been since Kennan posted.

So I now return, with gusto, in the name of international friendships and recycling!

If you are expecting anything epic (either in meaningfulness or length), this post may disappoint you.

If, however, you are expecting a bit of rambling of what our life has been like for the past several months, here it is... in no particular order... the good, the bad & the ugly:

we've finally started recycling, and I'm pretty excited about it... Kennan has become as addicted to Facebook (the applications, mostly) as I am... we got to leave the good ol' US of A for the first time ever, traveling to both Taiwan and Thailand to go to two weddings and to meet my Thai family... we lost our first child to a miscarriage in November, and though we're sad, are healing... the groups at Emory and Tech are doing well, and I'm still loving my job... GT lost to Fresno State in the bowl game (AGAIN) and I'm disgusted with my team (but pessimistically hopeful for next fall)... we got the complete series of Stargate SG1 for Christmas and it's fabulous... I've been using the word "fabulous" a lot lately, and I'm not sure why... our cats are as bad and as cute as ever... our unbelievable friends threw a surprise party (happy b-day Kennan/condolences/bon voyage) for us before we left for Asia, and I have never before felt so loved or humbled... seeing the Taipei 101 "explode" with fireworks on New Year's eve was fun, but a little freaky... I'm finally reading "Mere Christianity" by C.S. Lewis, and it's excellent... I continue to be amazed by how God loves us even when we're angry at him... Aaron and Becky are engaged, and that's super exciting!... I'm pleasantly surprised by the array of choices in the presidential election thus far... 99.7 is now Q100 and 100.5 is now a rock station with some of the old 99x peeps, and it's confusing... it snowed in Atlanta the day we got home from being in 95+ degree weather in Thailand... our apartment flooded while we were gone, and the Hwangs and the Mustains saved the day!... I turn 30 this year and am a little freaked out by that... Paul and Sarah are eagerly awaiting the sprouting of The Bean and (I'm excited that) I'm excited for them... Pretzel the Bear is now a world traveler... it was great to see family at Christmastime and I don't know where 2007 went... we slept from 9:30 pm Tues. to 6 pm Wed. when we got home from Asia... we're doing much better about our sleep schedule now and it's 10:30 so I'm going to say goodnight!

WAUGH!

I was goofing off on MySpace (mistake #1, many of you might say). I came across a comment someone had left for a friend. It had bubble wrap to pop. I started popping. THEN, all of a sudden, this horrible, scary horror-movie face popped up on the screen, screaming! Waugh! I screamed (which added to the chaos) and am just so thankful that it's not 3 AM in the morning and glad that Kennan is still up to help me calm down.

What a dirty, low-down trick. If I ever get my hands on that person...

Anyway, WAUGH! not only describes that little shockeroo, but also life as of late.

Good WAUGH, bad WAUGH (exhausted WAUGH, too-much-sugar WAUGH, you name it)...

Good WAUGH: my inbox is down to 381 (since getting the number up from 666 to 777 seemed a daunting task, I opted to go down, instead)... Kennan passed his 2nd round of his written quals (next stop, oral quals and then 4 more years of grad school)... Easter choir practice started again (exciting, but time consuming)... more and more friends having birthdays, graduating, getting married, getting pregnant, having kids, etc. etc. (makes me feel old)... the groups at Tech and Emory continue to grow, as well as finding other discipline-specific groups to work with (great, but the nagging question is: Am I up to it?)... we got to go to the Chicago area for the annual GFM Staff Conference (so great, but rather overwhelming and exhausting-I need a vacation now!)... my awesome supervisor was in town (are you reading this, DP?)... Spring is finally here (but I know THE POLLEN is on its way!)... GT is going dancing (but will probably lose in the first or second round)...

Bad WAUGH: seeing friends lose children, marriages, parents, jobs, etc. (SO hard!)... realizing how badly I've fallen out of touch with so many friends from P-ville/college days (how do the years fly by so quickly?)... we tried to go to the Christmas Choir Reunion Party but got hopelessly lost in frickin' Sandy Springs (please don't try to tell me the suburbs are easier to get around than Midtown!)... The aforementioned evil popup (my heart is still beating so fast!)... seeing good friends struggle with budget/fundraising issues (why, O Lord, have you been so gracious to me?)... talking with a mentally-ill homeless man about Jesus (he seemed to be getting it, but then he started talking about how the sun used to be a man until he ascended and that someday we'll all have to pass through the sun to be purified)... our sleep schedule is a disaster (it's almost midnight and we're both still wide-awake)... one of the cats horked a hairball all over the dining room table (ew! ew! ew!)...

And how is everyone else? Any WAUGHs to share?

The Year of the Barf

The (Chinese) New Year started with a bang for me this year. Given that my sister-in-law will be marrying a wonderful Taiwanese friend in just a few short months, I've enjoyed learning more about the Chinese culture lately. To celebrate the new year, we went to Little Szechuan (oh, the sesame chicken! We were out of it so fast!) with our Thursday night small group and Canton House (oh, the sesame balls! I could not believe they were out of them!) when the mom-in-law was in town for wahdding plahnning. Our good friends Matt & Cheryl (and Becky! :) also shared with us some tickets to New Tang Dynasty Television's Chinese New Year Spectacular, which was both beautiful and a lot of fun. I enjoyed sitting next to Cheryl, who is also Taiwanese, as she could translate some for me and explain some of the customs. Good times with family & friends. Xin Nein Kuai Le! Happy New Year!

Unfortunately (as you might guess from the title), the Year of the Pig went downhill from there. The stomach flu descended on me that night and fun times at the Crane house ensued. There's nothing like a little projectile vomit (among other things, ew) to liven up your new year. I haven't been that sick in years. Being in bed all day for 3 days did provide a good time to (re)connect with my own Asian heritage, though. Between bouts of nausea and being passed out like a rock, I re-read Mai Pen Rai Means Nevermind (An American Housewife's Honest Love Affair with the Irrepressible People of Thailand) by Carol Hollinger, a very witty and downright hilarious book that made me yearn all the more to visit Thailand. Although... I identified all-too-well with her skirmishes with "amoebic" (dysentery) and am not sure I could be quite as laissez faire she was about the local water and crops. It does make sense that if you're going to be somewhere for an extended period of time, you might as well get the misery over with and acclimate as soon as possible so you can actually enjoy the culture. I would certainly not want to be the obnoxious, mincing American, scurrying around worrying over disease and pestilence. Perhaps when we go (someday!) I will enjoy the trip like I would while camping. I naturally relax when we go camping, and will tromp through all sorts of spider-infested areas and eat Lord-knows-what that fell Lord-knows-where with cheerful aplomb. Here's hoping.

Anyway, I'm all but back to normal and glad to be back in the swing of things. Happy Year of the Pig, everybody!